Harry Potter and She Who Was Sent
by thedorkygirl
Summary: CaraLena is a transfering wizardress from America how will she fit into Hogwarts? GIVEN UP.
1. Enter Cara-Lena

.01

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is Jo Rowlings'! I own nothing of hers. I do own Cara-Lena and La Escuela de Hechiceria. That means: the School of Witchcraft/the Witchcraft school. Let's see . . . I love Eliza Diawna Snape and SpamWarrior . . . Anyway, if you want to sue me, you get this nice stamp I have; that's all!  
  
**Chapter One: Enter Cara-Lena**  
  
It was Cara-Lena's first day there, at Hogwarts. She was trying to find her way to all her classes. Her schedule, which had seemed so exciting the night before, now seemed to be mocking her.   
  
"I know where these classrooms are, and you don't," the stiff parchment seemed to be saying. Cara-Lena was so preoccupied, she nearly ran into someone.   
  
"Who are you? The feast hasn't even started yet, so why are you here?" squeaked the short, gray-haired man. Cara-Lena silently went though her head until the list of teachers gave way to the man's name.   
  
_Flitwick, Charms, _she thought. "I'm Cara-Lena Anders, I'm the transfer student from California. I'm here early so I can find my classes -- my understanding was that the principal said it was okay."   
  
"Oh, yes, the _headmaster _did mention you. Very unfortunate about the dealings at La Escuela de Hechiceria," Flitwick spoke the words with an uncertain Spanish accent. "At Hogwarts, nothing of the sort will happen. Students will be more understanding about students different from themselves, I'm sure."   
  
Cara-Lena flinched. _Oh, that's right, _she thought, _mention it on the day my new life begins. _Aloud, she said, "Yeah, well, Mr. Flitwick, I'm just gonna keep my mouth shut and control things better."   
  
"It is Professor Flitwick. We are addressed here by the title of _professor, _" there was a slight hint of annoyance in Flitwick's voice.   
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Cara grinned apologetically. "In 'merica, we just say 'Mr., Mrs., Ms., Miss," and such stuff. Suppose I'll have to train myself. Could you please point me to your classroom? I kind of don't know where it is . . ." _That ought to get him busy enough to stop speaking about my transfer . . . _  
  
"Sure, let me show you . . ." with that, they were down a corridor to the left. Professor Flitwick seemed charmed that Cara knew so much about Charms. Apparently, La Escuela had taught her about one month ahead in Charms. "It'll be review, Miss Anders, but I'm sure you wont mind. You'll be able to catch up in other classes which might have been more quickly paced than your previous classes."   
  
"Yeah, I'm probably way behind in . . . History of Magic. I tended to read and forget at La Escuela, ya know," Cara spoke of La Escuela de Hechiceria as if it were the only school of wizardry, something that she had been taught since she was a small child. Actually, the thing she had just spoken wasn't true. Cara-Lena loved school -- or at least the learning part -- and had always paid attention during classes. "Hey, you've got a neat room. But, there aren't that many desks."   
  
"Most classes have ten, maybe twelve, students. Of course, you'll have Double Potions and Double Care of Magical Creatures and such other hands on classes mixed with other houses," Flitwick picked up a book and peered intently into its pages.   
  
"Oh . . . umm . . ." Cara-Lena thought for a minute. "Oh! Dorm's at La Escuela had forty students to a grade," Cara-Lena had figured that the word for house and dorm were interchangeable. Sometimes, she was slow to get started. _But I'm one heck of a party-girl once I start! _she thought vehemently. "It was much large in that respect, though I do think that the castle was a good many times smaller. The size of the grounds seem to be about the same."   
  
"I think you'd better find Professor McGonagall. She deals with First Years," Flitwick ended the conversation easily, closing the book with a soft whoosh of air.   
  
"'Kay, thanks." _I'm a fifth grader, or, year, silly . . . _  
  
"You're welcome," Flitwick left the room with Cara-Lena at his heels.   
  
Cara turned and power-walked toward the Great Hall. Her quick dash through it gave her a fleeting impression of a vast, ceiling less room. When she entered it, she scanned the room until she found Professor McGonagall. _Tall, strict looking, with weird glasses. Has to be her. _Cara-Lena approached tentatively, unsure how the teacher would react to being tapped on the small of her back. _I'll touch her arm, just to be safe. _  
  
"Professor?" McGonagall turned around. Her face, which Cara had only been lucky to profile, was rather severe looking. However, Cara-Lena, who was a great believe in first impressions, saw something in the eyes. She smiled, involuntarily and slowly. "I'm the transfer, Cara-Lena Anders, or . . . Cara-Lena Meredith, whichever my parents," Cara grimaced at the mention of the two who had conceived her, "felt like putting. I answer to both readily." She saw recognition on the professor's face and suddenly Cara was having her hand shaken. Oddly enough, it didn't feel quite as stupid as she always thought it had felt.   
  
"How d'you do, Miss Anders. I'm Professor McGonagall. I'm in the Transfiguration department," McGonagall replied. Seeing the blank look on Cara-Lena's face, she added, "I think you know transfiguring as transforming."   
  
"Oh, duh," Cara-Lena said, smacking herself on the forehead with the palm of her hand. Professor McGonagall looked shocked, and Cara-Lena started having prickling in her stomach. She decided to play it off by smacking herself again a couple of times more, adding, "Stupid." She stopped, smiled, and said, "That brain of mine ought to wake up, ya know."   
  
"Well, yes," the professor still looked uncomfortable, but Cara decided to ignore it.   
  
"You're wandles are very realistic-looking. One would suppose they were actual candles! Did you do the tranfor-iguring?" she asked, looking at the flickering objects above the table.   
  
"Actually, those _are _candles held up with a simple Levitational Charm," Professor McGonagall said, smiling.   
  
Cara-Lena leapt back, craning her neck upward. "Fire?" she asked, craning her neck up. "Oh, lemme have a look! Candles are way cooler than wandles, plus they are real fire. I," finished Cara, "love fire."   
  
McGonagall seemed to choose her words carefully. "I know you like fire, but now isn't really time for it . . ." she worded this last party slowly, letting her voice trail off at the end.   
  
**_It wasn't me! _**Cara-Lena thought violently. Smiling, she replied, "You're right. So, what should I be doing at this moment?" _Skillful change of conversation, Cara, _she thought.   
  
"Maybe you should go into the Entry Hall and wait for the first years. We'll sort you into your Fifth Year house after the first years are all done. Now, we'll merely explain that you're school has been close down," -- McGonagall's accent was so thick that Cara could barely contain her smile -- "and you'll be attending here for the rest of your education. Is that all right with you, Miss Anders?"   
  
Cara-Lena looked at the ceiling, remember the hurried voice of her mother. _Bewitched, _she thought, _to reflect the sky above. _"Sounds splendid, dah-ling," Cara cried dramatically, waving her arm about her as if she were a windmill. "I'll wait for the runts in the hall!" Cara marched through the door into the main corridor.   
  
When she entered, her breath seemed to freeze in her body. _A poltergeist! _her brain screamed. _No, no . . . I can't play . . . play . . . _Suddenly, the noise level rose several decibels at the poltergeist let out a rude sound. _Talk to him, _her brain urged. Tentatively, she reached forward and let out a barely audible, "What's you're name?"   
  
The little man floating cross-leggedly in the air just laughed, casing his bright orange ruff to bounce merrily up and down. Instictinctively, Car brought her hands up to her face, palms toward the little man. He, in the act of tying several branches of palm tree to the handle of a closed door, stopped short and stared at her as he floated toward her. Smiling breathlessly, she stopped him a foot from her body and asked with a small grin:   
  
"Just what did you say your name was, again?"   
  
"Peeves, your loveliness, ma'am," a greasy tone was adopted by him. Cara-Lena knew a facade when she saw one.   
  
"I'm going to ignore your . . . " Cara stopped mid-sentence. What was she doing? She had let it take over; the part of her that wanted to play. Angry at herself, she spat out at the still frozen poltergeist, "Speak of this to no one!" and put her hands down. Immediately, Peeves was up and away, zipping down the hall. Luck was for Cara that she had let him go, for not two seconds after his departure the main door banged open.   
  
An immense man stood in front of a group of maybe forty, forty-five students. An intake of breath and a soft side of "half-giant," on Cara's part completed the picture of shock that met with this man. Cara smiled. _Ruddy face, covered in a breath, beetle black eyes, it has to be Professor Hagrid. _  
  
"Professor Hagrid?" Cara-Lena began, taking an inadvertent step forward.   
  
"Jus' call me Hagrid, I'm no profes'or," Hagrid gave her what Cara assumed was a cheery smile -- she wasn't able to see much behind his wild tangle of a beard.   
  
"Sure. McGonagall . . . umm, Professor McGonagall said I was to watch the younger ones," Cara-Lena was aware of a slight humming from the Great Hall. "Go on, then, get a good seat."   
  
"Certain yeh can handle 'em?" Hagrid asked.   
  
"Sure I can! I'm fifteen, aren't I?" Cara stood, almost indignantly, with her hands on her hips.   
  
Grinning his beard into a half-moon, Hagrid left.   
  
_Children, _Cara-Lena thought suddenly, _play with them. _  
  
Thinking quickly, she said, "Okay, I want all the Muggle borns to go here," -- Cara-Lena pointed to her left -- "all half-and-half to go here," -- this time, her finger jabbed in front of her -- "and all complete wizards here," -- to the right -- "anything else, look, oh, seventy-five percent or whatever, to the back of me."   
  
Obediently, the children went as directed. Cara-Lena stood in front of the group.   
  
"Now everybody mix up, quick!" Cara cried. Watching the mad scramble, she slowly and methodically counted to twenty. "Stop! Now," Cara-Lena began pacing, "before this day, you were divided. You came from different backgrounds. The family you have is totally diverse from who is standing next to you's family. One thing ties you together -- forever! You are all wizards. Let it be a bond for life. If you stand together, you will never be divided by those who call themselves warlocks," a few people shifted in their shoes, but Cara ignored it.   
  
In fact, Cara clapped her hands together. She had remembered the speech her principal had given every year to the incoming first graders perfectly. "There, now that I have those words of wisdom of my chest, how many sickles says I can jump one hundred twenty times in a row without stopping?" Cara-Lena noticed no one had spoken. She hoped to stop the other from fretting, with wit and cheerfulness, as a friend had once described her way of life. "Oh, don't mind my sudden change of moods -- that speech wasn't off the top of my head, it was from my old school. Now, _how _many sickles, Newbies?"   
  
"Three says you can't," said a cheeky looking boy, rather impishly.   
  
"You're on!" Cara started. "One, two, three, four . . ." All of the first years' eyes were on her. She was just finishing ( " . . . one ::gasp:: twenty-six, there, you owe me three sickles!") when the door opened and Professor McGonagall came into the hallway.   
  
"You may all follow me. Cara-Lena Meredith," -- so her parents _had _written Meredith -- "take the back, if you would," she said in her steely voice.   
  
"Okie dokie, artichokie," Cara said cheerfully, waltzing to the back with an invisible partner. Several of the aforementioned 'Newbies' giggled, in reply to which Cara-Lena stopped and gave them all a good-natured grin, before continuing on her way, saying in a melodramatic whisper, "One, two, three, four, twirl. One, two, three, four, twirl. One, two, three, four, twirl . . ."   
  
"Cara-Lena, please control yourself," Professor McGonagall said; though Cara saw a smile playing at the edges. "This is a school."   
  
"Sorry, Professor. I was just trying to ease the tension. These kids are seriously wired. I mean, look at their faces. We'd have some terrible Mas 'n' Pas here if these kids died from shock," Cara-Lena was at the back of the line, sticking her head out to speak and look at Professor McGonagall.   
  
"Mazenpause?" the professor asked curiously.   
  
"Mas and Pas is an expression. Its . . . shocked parents. I guess I should stop it with my other continent slang, huh?" Cara glanced regretfully around at the stone walls, remembering the wooden walls that had been La Escuela's Entry Hall's surroundings.   
  
"Naw," came the voice of the cheeky boy who had bet three sickles earlier, "you give us old worlders a breath of fresh air!"   
  
"Ha ha ha," Cara said sarcastically. "You, mister, owe me three sickles. But, we'll leave that until after you wrestle the troll that's in there. Boy, is he an uuggllyy thing . . ."   
  
"Miss Anders, stop it!" Professor McGonagall's eyes were flashing dangerously. Cara-Lena took one look, opened her eyes to two perfect 'o's and let her mouth drop, saying a quick yes'm in the process. Before the professor turned away, Cara gave her a big wink.   
  
Professor McGonagall smiled -- for real this time -- a rather toothy smile that surprised everyone. Cara-Lena gave her a flashy grin before crossed her arms on her chest like an American Indian, her eyes straight ahead and her features looking as if she'd never smiled before in her life and would be shocked if you would suggest such a thing.   
  
Turning, the professor lead the class through the door in the hall. Cara-Lena could hear murmurs of "It's been five minutes!"   
  
Professor McGonagall walked up to the front, where a frayed, patched, and dirty hat was laying on a stool.   
  
_The infamous sorting hat, _Cara thought before the brim opened wide and started to sing.   
  
  
  
  
  


And now I must tell once more  
of the genius of the Hogwarts four  
Who themselves were wonderful wizards, now  
They started a school, yet there remain a problem how  
To chose the best of their young kind  
The solution of which was important to find  
So they made me to work in their stead  
To be placed upon your head . . .  
  
  
  
  
  


_Nice song, but rather dull . . . _Cara thought absently. _Not at all like La Escuela. Writing out our names on the paper, having the paper flying toward the book of the dormitory that you were to be living in . . . all these children have to do is put the hat on their fuzzy little heads. _  
  
Professor McGonagall opened up a bit of parchment that had been rolled up. _I think Flitwick handed it to her, he's the only teacher up besides McGonagall, _Cara-Lena thought. McGonagall began reading from the parchment:   
  
"Aarons, Michael," she read imperiously. A small, delicate looking girl stumbled forward, her bright black pigtails visible under her hat. Daintily, she removed her wizardress' hat and placed the Sorting Cap on her head. She looked as though a breeze would blow her over.   
  
_She'll probably NOT go to Slytherin . . . Mother had said how they were the most ambitious and how she and Father had been so pleased to get into Slytherin. Each unto their own, I say. The girl looks to frightened to be a Gryffindor; I know that they're supposed to be brave. Maybe one of the virtuous Ravenclaws or a boring Hufflepuff . . . _  
  
"Slytherin!" the hat shouted. Cara-Lena's features turned into ones of shock. The girl's face fell, then she glanced at the table where the unpleasant-looking Slytherins were seated. Determinedly, she walked toward the table, her head held high, as a smart applause filled the room.   
  
_Girl's got spunk, _Cara thought, amused.   
  
"Ackling, Marta . . ." the list seemed forever long to Cara, who was growing impatient. Finally, Zuturings, Jack was made a Ravenclaw and Cara-Lena was the last one left.   
  
"Anders, Cara-Lena Meridith, our new transfer," came the strong voice of Professor McGonagall. Cara-Lena could feel every head in the hall turn to her as she raced toward the front, skipping with anticipation. She stopped mid way to stick her tongue out at a pale faced boy who was smirking at her. Finally, she arrived.   
  
"'Bout time," Cara said. "Hiyas," she gave this a quick wave. Taking a deep breath, Cara began, "My name is Cara-Lena Meridith Anders. You can call me Cara, Cara-Lena, or Cara-Lena Meridith. Whatever. I am fifteen years old, I was born in Oregon, but I lived in California since I was two. I used to go to La Escuela de Hechiceria, but it went," -- here, Cara brought her fingers up and made air quotation marks -- "out o' buz'ness. So, where do I go to school? Here, 'cuz its a very good school. 'Sides, I always wanted to learn a foreign language!" There was a general outcry at this, and Cara laughed. "I'm just kidding! Geeze, you people have no sense of humor; with an o-r, folks!"   
  
Cara-Lena waved a hand in front her her head and snapped her fingers in the universal home-girl snap, something that the students of La Escuela had always done when changing subjects. "So, anyway, now I'm going to try on that hat and get a house. Do you think it looks good with my robes? I look so awful in black -- my school robes were a light blue!"   
  
She picked up the hate and plopped it down on her head.   
  
"Hello . . ." came a little, buzzing voice.   
  
_Hey, look, I was thinking, and, well, I do not want to be in Slytherin, 'kay? Put me anywhere but there! My parents are Slytherins and I'm going through the whole rebellious stage. Besides, they are not my type of people . . . _Cara-Lena thought, peeking out from under the brim of cap, cross-eyed.   
  
"A general sense of mischief and . . . wow. You are the first one of your kind in almost nine hundred years. I shall follow the tradition and place you after your predecessors --"   
  
"-- All right --" cried Cara, making a fist and pumping it.   
  
"-- GRYFFINDOR!" cried the hat.   
  
Cara placed the hat on the stool with a "coolio, duderz," and trotted over to the Gryffindor table, where she made her seat impression next to a girl with busy brown hair about her own age. Cara just had time to register the fact the hall was clapping before she noticed the Ghost.   
  
A quick analyze later . . ."Nearly Headless Nick," Cara-Lena said, with a smile.   
  
"How did you know my name?" asked the Ghost, his ruff wobbling dangerously as he turned his neck toward her.   
  
"Oh, I always do my research before I come to a new place, especially on ghosts," Cara said candidly.   
  
"Oh," the Ghost looked rather flattered, "well, welcome to Hogwarts!"   
  
"Thanks," Cara-Lena said amiably. "Do you think I'll like it here? How're the classes and the food?"   
  
"Why don't you ask Hermione; she loves classes and I haven't eaten for four hundred three years," Nick motioned toward her right, to the bushy haired girl. Cara-Lena was just about to turn where Nick had pointed when the Headmaster stood up.   
  
Cara knew him to be Albus Dumbledore immediately. She had seen several pictures of him in her research and she had read up on many of his doings at La Escuela. His long, silver hair was wavy, his beard reaching the same length as his hair. When he began to speak, Cara-Lena could hear the apprehension in every breath of the room.   
  
"Ahem . . .I'm not quite sure if I can top Miss Anders' speech -- " he began   
  
"You can try, but its highly unlikely!" Cara-Lena called out, much to the twinkling eyed amusement of Dumbledore.   
  
"Too true," he said sadly. "Now, to begin with, I must remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students, as if Hogsmeade to those without a permission slip. Also, every fifth Saturday, ten lucky students will get to visit a Muggle elementary school and read to the younger children. We pick these students using Dragon Claws, which are new this year.   
  
"If, for example, you stay behind in Professor Snape's room and clean up without being asked, that would be a good deed he just may write on a slip of paper. All the slips get placed in a jar, then we draw the ten lucky names and they get to teach three or four or five or six or seven year olds. Of course, you will be provided with suitable Muggle clothing if you only have wizarding robes. Now, I think I'm done. Whodlee Wizzip Frankum!"   
  
The plates -- Cara looked down and realized they were gold -- were filled with a lot of different foods. Cara-Lena wrinkled her nose.   
  
"Is that Jell-O?" she asked Hermione, a worried look plastered on her face.   
  
"No, but its close enough, the girl grinned. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. This is my friend Ron Weasley --"   
  
"Hi, Ron," Cara glanced at a long nosed, freckled, and redheaded boy next to Hermione.   
  
"How d'you do?" Ron asked politely.   
  
"-- and my friend Harry Potter -- " Hermione continued.   
  
"Hey, Harry, how's it hanging?" Cara-Lena asked mischievously.   
  
"F-f-fine," gasped Harry, startled.   
  
Cara-Lena realized her mistake; or at least she smacked herself on the head, saying, "Now there, you've gone and scared the British boy. Look dude, that was --" but what it was, they never knew, because Hermione suddenly giggle.   
  
"Dude?" she sputtered. "Its 1995, not 1970!"   
  
"Hey, I'll have you peeps know that every says 'dude' in California. It's come back in. My tries to get 'totally rockin'' on the slang sheet have, as of yet, been unsuccessful.   
  
"Anyway," Cara-Lena continued, "what year are y'all in?"   
  
"Umm, _we'all _are in in the same year as you. We'll be having all the same classes for the basics. What are you in? Or, actually, what is you schedule . . . oh, you wouldn't know what, well . . ." Hermione stammered.   
  
"Oh, I've already got my sked-jewl," said Cara-Lena, drawing out the American pronunciation with a wink as she handed the parchment over. Hermione peered at it excitedly.   
  
"Yes, well, I don't believe it!" Hermione cried. "You have everything except Muggle Studies and Divination -- just like me!"   
  
"Wrong, I've got Divination. Its just during the time when the professor would usually be getting ready for dinner, see? Extra tutoring," Cara gave a sigh. "My parents are great believers in Divination --"   
  
Hermione gave a snort, Ron went red, and Harry laughed right out. Cara-Lena ignored them.   
  
"-- they fancy themselves a witch and a warlock, not proper wizardress or wizard," she continued doggedly.   
  
"What're those?" Harry asked quizzically. Cara-Lena thought for a minute.   
  
_British term . . . British term . . . oh, yes . . . _"Dark Wizards . . . Warlocks are the American forms of Dark Wizards. I assume that you people use the term witch instead of wizadress?" the other three nodded. Cara gave a shrug, "Beats me why. A witch is a bad thing in America."   
  
"Different dialects," Hermione said carelessly.   
  
"Anyway, my parents are really big into all that crap. You could call them fatalists or hippies. Besides, they think it'll help me control my . . ." Cara stopped suddenly, gave a very big cough that was obviously fake, then, "Darn fly. Anyway, it's supposed to control my temper."   
  
"Your temper? You have as much of a temper as your parents are Dark Wizards!" exclaimed Harry dubiously.   
  
"Oh yes, my temper," Cara-Lena's eyes were sparkling. "I've got a terrible temper; I remember in kindergarten, I jinxed this teacher's aid --"   
  
"You can't jinx in Kindergarten!" Ron cried. Cara turned red for the briefest moment, but was soon in control of herself. _Idiot! Don't give it away! _  
  
"Aw, and I've got an awful temper," everybody laughed and quite suddenly the desserts appeared. "Oh, yummy. Let's see, that's vanilla ice cream. I think I'll go with that, it is just so nice and homey looking."   
  
Hermione yawned, stretching her arms over her head, and her robes lifted to the point where Cara-Lena could see a badge with a large 'P' on her it, underneath the folds.   
  
"Oh, what's that?" Cara-Lena asked, pointing to the badge.   
  
Hermione's chest puffed up so that Cara was reminded of a peacock.   
  
"I'm a prefect," Hermione said in a proud voice.   
  
"They still have those things? Don't tell me there are Head Boys and Girls, right?" Cara-Lena asked.   
  
"Yeah," said Ron, "we do. What did, um, lah esquelah have?"   
  
"¿Mi escuela? No tiene 'prefect'" Cara-Lena declared smugly.   
  
"Hmm, well, I know French . . ." Hermione said thoughtfully. "I could teach you that and you can teach me Spanish."   
  
"Sure, or, actually, 'de acuerdo,'" Cara-Lena agreed. She gave a large yawn, feeling as if her face had split in two. "When do we leave? I'm exhausted."   
  
"Oh, anytime now. Hey, where are you going to sleep? In the same room as the rest of the Gryffindor fifth year girls, or with the first year girls?" Hermione asked.   
  
"I dunno, I'll have to ask someone," Cara-Lena gave a shrug.   
  
"Ask McGonagall, she's head of Gryffindor. I'm Parvati Patil, by the way, and this is Lavender Brown," a girl across the table leaned over and nodded.   
  
"Parents have a sense of humor, eh Lavender?" Cara-Lena asked. Everyone laughed, even Lavender, who gasped amid giggles:   
  
"No-o-o, my mother's family always names their oldest girls Lavender."   
  
"Oh, well, at least your surname isn't Flower, or Bouquet," Cara said, smiling.   
  
"Imagine that: Lavender Bouquet!" said Parvati, hiccoughing from the giggles.   
  
While they were all laughing, Cara noticed that at the staff table, Dumbledore had stood.   
  
"Well, now that we've all eaten, I must say that a bunch of half-open eyes are watching me. Off to bed, bip bip bip," Dumbledore waved the dirty dishes away with his wand.   
  
Cara-Lena was just following Hermione (Gryffindors didn't have any heads that year, it seemed.) when she realized quite suddenly there were doors hidden by tapestries.   
  
"Her-my-::yawn::-nee," Cara gasped slightly from lack of breath. "My old school didn't have secret passages to get to the rooms. There is just a hallway with doors. There were these bunk beds -- four of them on two walls each -- and we'd all crawl in!"   
  
"Oh, wow . . . Now, we have common rooms. Traditionally, there is a lot of rivalry between Houses, and we like to keep our common rooms secret. Besides, this is just a shortcut to get to the room," Hermione stopped in front of a portrait of a Fat Pink Lady.   
  
"Password," Hermione was prompted.   
  
"Fatuous Gentlemen," Hermione said with an air of grandeur. The portrait swung forward on its hinges and everyone climbed through the portrait hole.   
  
"Well, isn't that neat," Cara said, turning as she watched the portrait swing shut.   
  
"Yeah, I guess so," admitted Harry. "Well, this is the common room. Those are the tables and those're the chairs and the fire . . . that staircase leads to girl's dormitory, and that one leads to the boys. Guess I'll see you in the morning."   
  
"Yeah, see you," said Cara as she watched Ron and Harry's disapearing backs. "Well, I totally spaced out on asking McGonagall about the bed . . . let's just see if the trunk is up there in your room, 'kay?"   
  
"'Kay," agreed Hermione as they climbed the steps. When they got to the third door (every ten steps, there was a sort of landing with a door) Hermione pointed to the large sign above that said FIFTH YEARS. Opening it up, they peered inside.   
  
"Oh, look! My trunk is here -- and my supplies two!" Cara-Lena squealed.   
  
"Supplies?" Hermione asked, looking doubtfully at the second, smaller trunk at the foot of her first. "Good thing your trunk is against the wall."   
  
"Yeah, lucky, eh?" Cara said, pulling off her robes and looking for her nightgown, "ah, yes, here it is. Well, g'night, Hermione. Sweet dreams!"   
  
"Yeah, you too," Hermione said, getting into her bed and pulling the hangings around her.   
  
Cara settled into a comfortable tiredness. _Today was fun, _she thought, her eyes closed. _Classes'll probably be easy. Wandwork . . . eh, I'll worry about that later. _  
  
Hey, work it, okay?! How is this? Second chapter is written but typing it up it a bitch. What's in store for Cara-Lena? Well, a lot more about Su Escuela! Also, bunches about her family life and bunches about how warlocks fit into her past. That's two or three chapters away, though, the next chapter is merely her fun with classes and her thoughts on Peeves on such. Love you all and if you notice anything that is totally stupid, don't hesitate to tell me. I don't mind getting flamed or iced; I enjoy both! 


	2. Morning and Such

.02 

Disclaimer: We all know who owns Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Albus Dumbledore. Let me have my little Cara-Lena and Professor Fast.

**Chapter Two: Morning and Such**

Cara-Lena woke the next morning feeling as though she'd been stroked with cubes of ice.

"Ah," you're awake," cackled a voice . . . somewhere in her mind, she placed it to Peeves'. "Now, tell me why I am solid and not merely floating through you."

Cara-Lena yanked her covers up to her chin, pushed Peeves away, and looked at the clock.

"Six-twenty!" she gasped, turning to Peeves. "Look, let's just say its NONE of your business," Cara made a move as if to bring her hands up to her face, and Peeves zoomed away. _I've got to put a ghost catcher over that door, _she thought as she reached in her trunk for clean underwear and socks.

"Oh, you're up, are you?" asked a sleepy voice from one of the hanging-covered beds. "Well "

_Patil, Parvati. _

"you and Hermione went to be so quickly last night; and you two were like logs. Tell me," Parvati's head finally poked out of the coverings, "why do you have two trunks?"

"I've got some extra potion ingredients and some notebooks and some extra schoolbooks and such," Cara-Lena told her. Shuddering, she thought, _Oh, and I hate having to drink that awful potion. Stupid allergies . . . _

"Why?" Parvati's voice was persistent

"Parents are creepy you-can-succeed! people," Cara said grumpily.

"The worst kind," Parvati conceded.

"You can't imagine," Cara-Lena informed her, thinking of all of the extra things that she had studied when she had been attending La Escuela. _Just because my parents said it was okay doesn't mean I said it was okay. I didn't ask to be made the way I was, I didn't ask to be a successful experiment. I didn't ask to attend that horrible school where they focused so much . . . _Cara-Lena was jerked out of thoughts by a long suffering voice.

"Why," came the voice, still heavy with sleep, "am I up at six-thirty?"

"Sorrrryyy, Lavender," Cara called out. "Hey, when is breakfast?"

"Anytime before classes," Parvati told her.

"Coolio," Cara-Lena bounded off her bed, fully dressed. "Hey, Hermione, wanna . . . dude, she's already gone . . ."

"Oh, Hermione **always** rises early. She likes to get to the _library _," Lavender giggled.

"Ditto. I love to read. I think I'll grab some toast and check out my copy of _Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them _, or, actually, I'll read my _Quod, A Game of Explosion _," Cara-Lena dug around in her trunk, looking for the book.

"Quod?" Lavender press, as Cara-Lena threw things about.

"Yeah, the sport. I'm guessing this means you guys don't have dorm team?" Cara-Lena tossed her head out of her trunk with a disappointed air.

"No . . . but we do play Quidditch," Parvati said slowly.

"Oh, yeah, I've played that. I was a keeper the times I played. Quod is actually a variation of Quidditch only, the Quaffle blows up and there isn't a Snitch. It's like Hot Potato and tremendous fun," Cara-Lena added.

"Americans have weird ideas on games," Lavender teased.

"Blah," Cara stuck her tongue out at Lavender. "I'm going to eat. Maybe I'll check _Quidditch Through the Ages _from the library. Haven't read that one in ages."

"Later," Parvati and Lavender said.

"Bye," Cara-Lena called back as she left the room, skipping down the steps toward the common room.

A sandy-haired boy was talking to a black boy near the portrait hole. The sandy-haired boy smiled at Cara-Lena, who returned it with a good-natured grin.

"Hi, I'm Seamus Finnigan and this is Dean Thomas," the sandy-haired boy said.

"Hey Seamus, Dean. I'm Cara-Lena," she reached up and pushed a fly-away hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, we know that," Dean said, tossing a few pebbles in the air.

Cara-Lena's eyes followed the path of the pebbles. Before she had a real chance to think, she lifted her right hand, palm toward the pebbles, and flicked her index finger down. Quickly, she adjusted some more of her hair, watching the pebbles fly and hit the portrait hole.

"How'd I do that?" said Dean in a bewildered voice, looking at the pebbles lying on the floor.

"Dunno," Cara-Lena replied, pushing open the portrait hole. "Bye."

She walked briskly toward the Great Hall, taking a good look at all the oil paintings she had been too tired to notice the night before. Stopping in front of a redheaded girl in laced titled _Miranda, _Cara-Lena took a good look at the aforementioned Miranda.

"Hi," the painting said shyly, looking up from under a huge hat.

"Hey yourself. I'm new," Cara-Lena told her.

"Me too," Miranda said sadly.

"Well," Cara-Lena said, feeling rather conspicuous, "I'm going to go eat."

"Good-bye," half-whispered Miranda.

"Umm, yeah, well, bye now," Cara-Lena said, backing away. _Weird, _thought Cara-Lena. _I've never met such a depressing painting. _

When Cara sat down at the Gryffindor table, she glanced curiously down the almost empty table. Two redheaded boys (_ . . . with lots of freckles, like Ron, _thought Cara) were just sitting down. They looked maybe a couple of years older than her, and they were twins. Cara-Lena decided she liked their stocky looks and their dancing eyes.

"Hi," Cara-Lena offered a smile, which the boys returned with two sets of crooked teeth.

"Fred," said one, with unbrushed hair, "and George Weasley. Ron's brothers. We saw you talking to him last night."

"Oh, I figured you guys were at least cousins or something," Cara-Lena laughed.

"Yeah," said George Weasley, with a knowing tug of his red hair, "we get that a lot."

At that moment, Harry and Ron came in the Great Hall and sat down on either side of Cara. Fred and George passed them their schedules.

"Hey! D'you guys know where Hermione went? I want to compare schedules," Cara-Lena pulled out a notebook from her bag and read off the list. "Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, lunch, Potions, Defense Against Dark Arts."

"Oh, we've got Divination when you've got Arithmancy . . . lemme see your schedule, I bet ours are nearly the same. Hermione's always are like Harry and mine . . . " Ron grabbed the parchment. "Hey, I don't believe it. Every time we're in Divination, she's either in Runes or Arithmancy. Everything else is exactly the same."

"Dumbledore's like that. Betcha Hermione's schedule is a duplicate of Cara's," Harry said carelessly, looking up at the swooping owls that were now starting to arrive. "Ron, look! Hedwig! She'll have us back an answer!""

Cara looked curiously at Harry as he grabbed the letter off Hedwig, his large snowy female. Harry had turned his shoulder in front of Cara-Lena's face, blocking her view.

"It's obvious you don't' want me to see the contents of your letter. Why don't you say so?" Cara asked, playfully stroking Hedwig. "I'll bang Hedwig some bacon, and Ron can take a gander at whatever is so secretive, 'kay?" Cara-Lena moved aside, smiling, trying to show that she understood that boys had their secrets and girls had theirs.

Harry looked uncomfortable and Cara decided it was time to leave.

"Look, I'll just take a quick run on over to the library. Bye," Cara got up.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks for understanding," Ron said.

Cara-Lena walked out and went to find the library. Checking her watch, Cara saw it was about seven-fifteen. People were obviously waking up, as there were a lot of students wandering to and from the Great Hall.

_Oh, there's the library,_ Cara-Lena thought as she saw the door opening and closing on a room filled with books.

"Hermione," Cara exclaimed in her best library voice, "I thought you'd be here. can I take a lookee at your schedule?"'

"Sure," Hermione left her book a rune dictionary and grabbed some parchment out of her bag. "Here you go."

"Ohhh," squealed Cara, earning a warning look from the librarian, (_Madame Pince_, Cara recalled.) "We have the exact same classes!"

"We do?" asked Hermione, peeking over Cara's shoulder. "Wow, I guess we do."

"It's good for me, 'cuz now I wont get lost on my way to classes," Cara-Lena declared.

Hermione laughed. "You, I guess not. I'm your lifeline."

Cara read the neat handwriting on her schedule. "Classes start sharp at nine, so please do not be tardy. Oh, I hate that word. Makes me feel as if I'm some sort of fish. Tardy. Yeck. I guess I'll just read my book until classes. Oh, yeah, I was gonna do the Quidditch book. D'you know when tryouts are, by the by?"

"Late this month," Hermione said, her head back in the book.

"'Kay, thanks," Cara-Lena wandered off, looking for Quidditch Through the Ages and muttering absentmindedly about Kennilworth Whiplash. "Ah ha!" she whispered when she finally saw it.

By the end of the hour, at eight-thirty, she had gotten to international teams more specifically, the book's short paragraph on Quod.

_Hmm, these British wizards are not hot on my favorite game. Oh well, I bet I'm Keeper or Chaser on their Quidditch team, if I get chosen._

"Hermione," she asked the brown head bent over the book, "d'you play Quod or Quidditch at all?"

"No, I'm not much of a flyer if the broom goes to fast. Don't like to think I'm falling," Hermione volunteered.

"Oh, I love Quod. I was team captain on my dormitory team . . . and I was in my second year as keeper on the city Quidditch team. Hope I'm on the team here."

"Oh, you like sports, do you?" Hermione's head bobbed back up.

"Course I do. It's a way to use up energy," Cara-Lena told her.

"Oh, I've never really thought of it in that way," Hermione told Cara with a looked of concentration on her face. "You're right, too."

Cara took a look at Hermione, "You strike me as as the kind of person with the perfect amount of energy; never too much, never too little."

Hermione thought on it for a minute. "Maybe I am," she said finally.

Cara-Lena laughed quietly. "Oh, thank you, Doctor, for another amazing diagnosis," she said, with a fling of her arm.

Hermione laughed, then stood up. "We'd better be getting to classes, or else we'll be late for Arithmancy."

"Professor Vector teaches that, right?" Cara-Lena asked curiously.

"Yeah," Hermione confirmed. "Let's go."

Cara-Lena and Hermione walked together to class, each carrying a large backpack. They settled themselves into seats near the front, waiting for their teacher.

An hour later, Cara and Hermione emerged from the room, talking happily about the lesson.

"You weren't behind at all in class!" Hermione exclaimed as they walked around a Ravenclaw seventh year who had dropped her bag in the middle of the corridor.

"Thank goodness for that," Cara-Lena skirted around several short first years and the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris. "I was worried that I'd be yard behind. La Escuela didn't deem it necessary to teach me certain academics."

"You know, I haven't heard of Escuela ever before you came here," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"It was a very elite private school for youngsters of certain standings. You had to meet many requirements to go there. You had to be born of parents who had participated in such and such a program, they had to have such and such a view on wizarding and warlock politics, they had to sign off on your medical liabilities, tons of stuff," Cara told Hermione absently.

"My God," Hermione said, "that sounds extremely strange!"

"You had to be born of three generations at the very least in wizarding blood; most of us were seven or eight generations in. I, myself, was eleven generations tracing on my father's side and nine on my mother's. We had to be of the Mejorar, tons of stuff . . . it was annoying. The school was very anti-Muggle, actually. I loved some aspects, but I hated others. It was a school full of blue-noses, you know?"

"What is one of the Mejorar?" Hermione asked Cara-Lena.

"Oh," Cara said . . . _Sometimes I talk too much. I wonder if I've said too much . . . no, I've just told her that it was a very difficult school to get in and it was very political . . . nothing except that slip of the tongue. . ._ "I don't know how to say it in English; its just an old expression we used at school to mean like extra or changed. You had to be smart; one of the Mekora," Cara-Lena purposely mispronounced the word.

"So . . . " Hermione began slowly. "Did you know I'm a Muggle born?"

Cara-Lena shrugged. "It was my parents, not me, who were the huge political freaks. I can't help what I have in my genes."

"I didn't want you to get angry at me for keeping it from you," Hermione said.

Cara grinned. "You aren't my first Muggle born friend. I'm an outgoing person; do you think that anyone can not be my friend?"

Hermione grinned. "No," she admitted.

"C'mon. We have Charms next, with the boys," Cara-Lena told Hermione.

"That really didn't sound right, Cara," Hermione said.

"Yeah, whatever," Cara-Lena opened the door to the Charms classroom. "Hi, Professor Flitwick," Cara said, smiling broadly across the nearly empty room.

"Hi there, Ron, Harry," Hermione sat down next to Harry and Ron, who had a desk between them, obviously saved for her.

Cara leaned and pulled a desk from the row above and put it near Harry. It was a bit cramped, being as she was against the wall, but it certified that no one would be sitting near her. She laughed as the round faced boy next to Ron squirmed quite a bit.

Harry leaned over his desk and pinched Cara-Lena's arm.

"Are you for real?" he asked. "Hermione tells us you're great at Arithmancy, you're rude to teachers, if the stories the first years are telling are true, plus you've got to be the wildest when it comes to behaving."

Cara smiled a large grin that took up her entire face, then said, "Ah, gee, thanks for the compliments."

"Harry's speaking the truth," Ron said, his nose visible just beyond Harry's profile.

"I'm wired, is all," Cara-Lena said easily, lapsing into Hechiceria slang. "Not nothin' special 'bout me."  
Classes flew by that day. After a hearty dinner, Cara-Lena went outside with the others to watch the giant squid.

"Sure is cold," Cara said, pulling her cloak closer.

"Your slang 'sure is odd,'" Harry said, grinning. Cara took it to mean they were okay with the way she spoke.

"You speakin' dirt 'bout my talk?" Cara said, laughing.

"No," Hermione picked up a stone and skipped it across the water. "You're too scary to make mad."

"Lucky me, I keep you on your toes," Cara-Lena leaned over and held out her arm. "Give me an Indian Burn," she ordered Ron. Shrugging, Ron took her arm between his hands and then turned them in opposite directions. Cara yawned very obviously. "Weak," she cried. "Hermione, your turn."

One by one, the three children tried to make Cara flinch with various pinches and rubs. Cara laughed and teased through each and every one of them.

"You're as weak as the High Lord Voldemort's worst supporter!" Cara-Lena cried. Hermione, Ron, and Harry all gasped. _Idiot, they aren't used to Hechiceria slang! Why did you use that?_

"Why do you call him High Lord?" asked Harry.

"Don't say that name!" cried Ron.

Surveying the group, Cara-Lena said softly, "'Merica doesn't say Dark Lord. Wizards from the Old World came in contact with American Indians, who taught them basic Wiccan beliefs."

"I didn't know that American Indians were Wiccan," Hermione said.

"Not all of them, but a few," Cara-Lena explained. "Wicca says that black is all colors; white is pure, so black is pure too. You can't represent evil with something that is pure. Black represents pink, which is love . . . there are all those colors . . . America doesn't see it that way."

"Your old school was hugely political . . . your country doesn't see things the way we do . . . you play different sports . . . " Hermione stated slowly. "You're so very much more different from us."

Cara-Lena shrugged. "Well, I'm here now . . ." Suddenly, she raced forward and slapped Ron's arm. "You're it!" Cara cried.

Well, that's the end of the second chapter. I love you guys too. :). Let's see . . . Eliza Rocks, Dark Angel Rocks, Everybody Rocks. How's that? I'm good, how're you? I have a quest for you all; tell me how many Knutz there are to a Galleon. I know the answer how many of you do!


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